The Defence of Poesy

“So that truly neither philosopher nor historiographer could at the first have entered into the gates of popular judgements, if they had not taken a great passport of poetry.” 

Sidney devotes considerable attention to literary genres and compares philosophy and historiography (the writing of history) unfavorably to poetry. Here, as he introduces the differences between the three genres, he argues that many of the greatest philosophers and historiographers of antiquity in fact wrote poetry and used it to improve their works. This fact points toward the primacy of poetry as both a genre and an educational tool.

“Among the Romans a poet was called vates, which is [...] a diviner, foreseer, or prophet [...] so heavenly a title did that excellent people bestow upon this heart-ravishing knowledge.”

Sidney pays specific attention throughout this work to ancient Greek and Roman thought about poetry. This reflects the author’s humanist background, with the movement’s devotion to classical education and the ancient languages. Here, Sidney uses vates, a Latin word for “poet” that also means “prophet,” to inspire a discussion of the divine inspiration of poets. Positing poets as prophets, whether pagan or Christian, elevates the genre above rival prose literature.

“[The word “poet”] cometh of this word poiein, which is, to make: wherein, I know not whether by luck or wisdom, we Englishmen have met with the Greeks in calling him a maker” 

Just as he looked to the Latin vates, Sidney also examines the Greek root of the word “poet,” which is from the verb poiein, “to make.” Etymologically, then, a poet is a maker, and Sidney revisits the concept of the poet-maker repeatedly throughout this work. For the author, this Greek root makes the poet the ultimate craftsman, and aligns the poet-as-maker with the divine influence of God-as-Maker.

“Nature never set forth the earth in so rich tapestry as divers poets have done; neither with so pleasant rivers, fruitful trees, sweet-smelling flowers, nor whatsoever else may make the too much loved earth more lovely. Her world is brazen, the poets only deliver a golden.” 

Pursuing the concept of poet-makers further, Sidney argues here that one of the benefits of poetry is that it is the only genre or art that can improve upon nature through invention and creation. On the other hand, philosophy merely classifies and theorizes, and history reports only facts. In calling nature’s world “brazen” and the poets’ world “golden,” Sidney is drawing on the Greek poet Hesiod’s story “Ages of Man.” According to this work, mankind once lived in a prosperous golden age, and would later descend to an inferior bronze (or brazen) age.

“[A]ny understanding knoweth the skill of each artificer standeth in that idea or fore-conceit of the work, and not in the work itself. And that the poet hath that idea is manifest, by delivering them forth in such excellency as he had imagined them. Which delivering forth also is not wholly imaginative [...] but so far substantially it worketh, not only to make a Cyrus [a virtuous prince in Xenophon’s Cyropedia, much admired by Sidney] [...] but to bestow a Cyrus upon the world to make many Cyruses, if they will learn aright why and how that maker made him.” 

Sidney is praising poetry’s unique ability, not only to communicate an idea, but to stir others to action through that idea. This is the outcome of poetry’s ability to teach, delight, and move. The author begins with a subtle reminder of his “poet-maker” trope, asserting that every “artificer” (maker) begins with an idea. Poetry’s superiority is in its ability to create, according to the above analogy, more “Cyruses” based on its original idea. Sidney suggests that the reader must work to understand why and how the poet creates his work—perhaps through the practice of literary criticism, like this very text. 

“Poesy therefore is an art of imitation, for so Aristotle termeth it in the word mimēsis—that is to say, a representing, counterfeiting, or figuring forth—to speak metaphorically, a speaking picture—with this end, to teach and delight.” 

This is the “Proposition” section of the work, and it constitutes Sidney’s definition of poetry. The author borrows ideas from a variety of ancient sources to craft this definition: Aristotle uses the Greek word mimēsis to describe poetry’s imitation of the natural world; the biographer Plutarch calls poetry a “speaking picture”; and the Roman poet Horace identifies poetry’s goals as teaching and delighting. There is nothing controversial in Sidney’s decision to borrow these definitions; given the prevalence of humanist thought by this period, ancient literary theory was well known and widely accepted. Sidney’s innovation is rather in the arguments he uses to expand on this definition, and his use of this definition with respect to English poetry in particular.

“For these [poets] indeed do merely make to imitate, and imitate both to delight and teach; and delight, to move men to take that goodness in hand [...] and teach, to make them know that goodness whereunto they are moved—which being the noblest scope to which ever any learning was directed, yet want there not idle tongues to bark at them.” 

This passage sums up Sidney’s central argument concerning poetry: that it improves upon nature to teach, delight, and move its audience to virtuous action. We can see here Sidney’s assumption that virtuous action is the unquestioned goal of education, which is a view that his humanist audience would have shared. The final words of this passage highlight the apparent ridiculousness of criticizing poetry; this is a pointed remark, since Sidney was directly responding to at least one contemporary essay with this treatise. The image of the “idle tongues” contrasts with the movement associated with poetry, emphasizing the author’s contempt for such critics.

“For conclusion, I say the philosopher teacheth, but he teacheth obscurely, so as the learned only can understand him, that is to say, he teacheth them that are already taught.”

Sidney devotes considerable space to his criticism of philosophy, which he finds is overly preoccupied with categorization, theorizing, and analysis; it does not stir the reader to action as poetry does. Here, the author singles out the obscure style of most philosophical writings for disdain. Perhaps unintentionally, this comment also reminds the reader that this very treatise is written by a highly educated thinker for a highly educated audience.

“So then the best of the historian is subject to the poet; for whatsoever action, or faction, whatsoever counsel, policy, or war stratagem the historian is bound to recite, that may the poet (if he list) with his imitation make his own, beautifying it both for further teaching, and more delighting, as it please him.” 

Sidney explains the superiority of poetry over history. Whereas poetry is an inventive genre that can alter reality freely in order to teach, delight, and move, history is confined to reporting objective fact. The result is that, at its best, history can sometimes tell stories that are as effective as poetry, but never better. Poetry is not confined to unpleasant truths the way history is, and it can furthermore improve upon any truth in a way that history cannot. By necessity, then, history can never achieve the goal of stirring the reader to virtuous action as effectively as poetry. 

“But to be moved to do that which we know, or to be moved with desire to know, hoc opus, hic labor est.”

Sidney summarizes the greatest challenge in education, stirring the reader to action. He employs the Latin phrase “hoc opus, hic labor est” (this is the work, this is the toil) to emphasize the difficulty. Sidney quotes this phrase from the Latin poet Vergil’s Aeneid, in a passage describing the incredible difficulty of returning from the underworld to the land of the living. The use of this quote emphasizes Sidney’s point, and Sidney’s habit of quoting ancient works in their original languages reminds the reader of the author’s erudition.

“And so a conclusion not unfitly ensue: that, as virtue is the most excellent resting place for all worldly learning to make his end of, so poetry, being the most familiar to teach it, and most princely to move towards it, in the most excellent work is the most excellent workman.”

Sidney reiterates his familiar argument of poetry’s supremacy as the teacher of virtue and the only genre that moves the reader to virtuous action. In this case, the author draws an interesting parallel with the “poet-maker” motif; this time, however, Sidney describes poetry itself as the “workman,” and virtue as the “work.” This playful shift is perhaps alluding to shared etymology of “poetry” and “poet,” both tracing back to the Greek verb meaning “to make.”

“Only this much now is to be said, that the comedy is an imitation of the common errors of our life, which he [the poet] representeth in the most ridiculous and scornful sort that may be, so as it is impossible that any beholder can be content to be such a one.”

In this passage, Sidney is enumerating the various subgenres of poetry and considering what criticisms one could make of each one. He suggests here that, although comedic poetry could be seen as promoting “common errors” and therefore failing to teach virtue, comedy is in fact warning its audience against such behavior. Sidney did not invent this criticism: he is almost certainly responding here to a contemporary essay named The Schoole of Abuse that levels exactly this sort of criticism against English theater.

“First, truly I note not only in these misomousoi, poet-haters, but in all that kind of people who seek a praise by dispraising others, that they do prodigally spend a great many wandering words in quips and scoffs, carping and taunting at each thing which, by stirring the spleen, may stay the brain from a through-beholding the worthiness of a subject.”

This is a vitriolic response to critics of poetry, which opens the Refutation section of the work. Since Sidney is about to defend poetry against its strongest criticisms, he begins his argument by establishing his rival critics as fools. He begins by coining the term “misomousoi” for critics, which in Greek means “haters-of-the-Muses.” He then enumerates the various undignified tactics that his rivals employ; by mocking their reliance on the spleen (thought to be the seat of laughter) rather than the brain (the seat of reason), Sidney positions these critics as petty and uneducated (in contrast with his own erudition).

“So that, verse being in itself sweet and orderly, and being best for memory, the only handle of knowledge, it must be in jest that any man can speak against it.” 

Sidney begins his defense against specific criticisms by addressing the suggestion that verse is worthy of scorn. He first reiterates that poetry does not need to rhyme or even appear in verse, but then he focuses his argument on a defense of verse regardless. Sidney here presents verse as an ideal tool for education since it is easy to remember. Because we have established that virtuous education is the ultimate goal, this point supports a much greater thesis. Sidney also revisits the contrast between spleen and brain, when he suggests that critics of verse must be speaking in jest, rather than employing reason.

“That a man might better spend his time, is a reason indeed [to criticize poetry]; but it doth (as they say) but petere principium [beg the question]. For if it be as I affirm, that no learning is so good as that which teacheth and moveth to virtue; and that none can both teach and move thereto so much as poetry: then is the conclusion manifest that ink and paper cannot be to a more profitable purpose employed. And certainly, though a man should grant their first assumption, it should follow (methinks) very unwillingly, that good is not good, because better is better.” 

Having firmly established the premise that the noblest goal of literature is to teach, delight, and move, Sidney can now use this principle to craft subtler arguments in his defense of poetry. In this case, the author is responding to the accusation that poetry is a waste of time. He maintains that he takes poetry to be the best genre for accomplishing this end—but with a nuanced twist, he further argues that even if there are better genres out there, it does not follow that poetry fails. It can still be a good teacher, even if one refuses to accept that it is the best. 

“For poetry is the companion of camps.” 

The pithiness of this phrase is unusual for Sidney, but it summarizes an argument very well. Here, the author is addressing the accusation that poetry is a bad influence. This section is almost certainly a direct response to Gosson’s Schoole of Abuse essay, which argues that poetry breeds laziness and cowardice. Sidney argues, on the contrary, that many great generals of the past took their inspiration from poetry (Alexander the Great was famously devoted to the poet Homer, for example). This argument aligns with Sidney’s crucial thesis that poetry moves its audience to virtuous action.

“So as Plato, banishing the abuse, not the thing, not banishing it, but giving due honour unto it, shall be our patron, and not our adversary.” 

Sidney offers a thorough argument against the accusation that Plato banished poetry from his ideal state in the Republic. According to Sidney’s interpretation, Plato only disapproved of bad poets, not of the genre of poetry itself. Since Sidney and Plato therefore agree in disliking bad poets, we are then free to imagine that Plato is aligned with Sidney in other respects. The author references examples of Plato speaking favorably of poetry in support of this reading and concludes here that Plato would welcome good poetry in his ideal republic. It is important for Sidney to address this criticism thoroughly, since Plato was one of the most revered thinkers in antiquity, and his audience of Renaissance humanists would have placed a high value on Plato’s imagined approval. 

“But I list not to defend poesy with the help of his underling historiography.” 

This sentence betrays Sidney’s self-consciousness regarding genre. Although this is a work praising poetry, the work is presented as a rhetorical exercise in a standard format. Sidney denigrates other genres, including history’s reliance on illustrative examples from the past, yet he employs all of the generic characteristics he criticizes the most. Sidney has just listed several examples of revered ancient thinkers who admired poetry; in so doing, he has employed a technique of historiography. In fact, although Sidney is praising poetry, it is not the genre most suited to his rhetorical needs. Ultimately, the genres of philosophy, oratory, and history are far more suited to Sidney’s particular purpose with this treatise.

“[S]o serves it for a piece of a reason why they [poets] are less grateful to idle England, which now can scarce endure the pain of a pen.” 

In this part of the treatise, Sidney is addressing the shortcomings of English poetry. He is reflecting on the reasons why contemporary thought has turned against poetry in England, even though the genre flourished in the past. One reason, according to Sidney, could be that England has at this point turned away from its military tradition. Having earlier tied poetry with military greatness, the author can now suggest that “idleness” goes hand-in-hand with a distaste for poetry. Poetry, after all, stirs people to virtuous action; if England rejects virtuous action, it must also reject poetry.

“A poet no industry can make, if his own genius be not carried into it; and therefore it is an old proverb, orator fit, poeta nascitur.” 

Sidney devotes a portion of his “Digression” on English poetry to bemoaning the glut of bad poets in his country. He suggests a careful study of poetry, such as this one, to help one determine whether they have talent for poetry themselves. As Sidney contends in this quote, the ability to write good poetry is a gift, not a skill that one can learn. The author again refuses to count himself among the poets, and the Latin phrase above shows some of his self-consciousness regarding genre: it means, “an orator is made, but a poet is born.” Since this work is itself an oratorical exercise, reflecting careful study and erudition, this could be a subtle joke about the author’s own abilities.

“Delight hath a joy in it, either permanent or present. Laughter hath only a scornful tickling.” 

In his detailed summary of the state of English poetry, Sidney devotes considerable attention to the theatrical genres of comedy and tragedy. Although he praised comedy’s educational potential earlier in this work, he now complains that contemporary English comedy prioritizes laughter over delight (the latter of which is one of poetry’s purposes). Sidney likely had Gosson’s Schoole of Abuse in mind as he wrote this section, as it directly addresses many of Gosson’s criticisms of poetry.

“Undoubtedly [...] I have found in divers smally learned courtiers a more sound style than in some professors of learning; of which I can guess no other cause, but that the courtier, following that which by practice he findeth fittest to nature, therein [...] doth according to art, though not by art: where the other, using art to show art, and not to hide art [...] flieth from nature, and indeed abuseth art.” 

Sidney concludes his discussion of English diction with this, illustrating the problem of overwrought language in literature. There are echoes of his earlier argument that poetry is a natural gift since he criticizes the obvious use of art (or skill) instead of natural ability. Strangely, much of Sidney’s discussion in this section focuses on rhetorical exercises, and the negative effects of poorly imitating classical orators. This again betrays Sidney’s awareness of genre, and of his choice of oratory rather than poetry as his own vehicle.

“I conjure you all that have had the evil luck to read this ink-wasting toy of mine, even in the name of the nine Muses, no more to scorn the sacred mysteries of poesy; no more to laugh at the name of poets, as though they were next inheritors to fools.” 

Sidney’s conclusion begins with the same playfully self-deprecating tone that ended his introduction. He self-consciously criticizes his own treatise, as he did in the introduction, thus framing the essay with marked rejections of seriousness. Still, there is a continued awareness of the audience. When Sidney invokes the Muses (Greek goddesses of divine inspiration) and references “sacred mysteries” (in the style of ancient Greek and Roman mystery cults), he brings poetry in line with the classical education of the humanists. Despite a frivolous tone, these references hint that poetry really does have a place among the humanities.